


Get a Little Action In

by goseaward



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 12:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/pseuds/goseaward
Summary: "You know you're flirting with me, right?"  Richard says.





	Get a Little Action In

**Author's Note:**

> Just like...pure filth. 
> 
> Thanks to fortymaliks for cheerleading & Vae for Britpicking (despite this not being one of her pairings!). All remaining errors are my own.

Richard says, "Fit bloke at your four o'clock."

Taron twists around and Richard kicks him under the table.

"Hey, ow!"

"To the right," Richard says fondly.

Taron turns to look over his right shoulder. There's a tall, blond-haired guy who's propped himself against the bar across the pub, lean but with broad shoulders, gingery scruff shadowing his jaw. Taron looks back at Richard. "Not really my type," he says easily, "but if you wanna give it a go, I'm having a great time with this pint."

"Hmm." Richard squints at Taron. 

Taron takes a gulp from his beer and doesn't look away: there's something nice about Richard's attention. 

"Too...blond?" Richard guesses.

"Nope."

"Too thin, then?"

The guy's about the same build as Richard, scaled up for height, and something in Taron rebels against answering one way or another. "Too male." Richard looks surprised. "I don't have anything against it," Taron adds quickly. "Or against people who do. Just...not really my thing."

"You're playing _Elton John_."

"I'm an _actor._"

Richard smiles. "All right," he says. "But—really? You got to stare at Colin Firth all day and you couldn't even enjoy it?"

"Oh, I enjoyed it," Taron says. "I'm mostly straight, not completely dead."

"Mostly?" The smile grows.

"I've had my bicurious moments."

Just like that, Richard winces. "Oh God. Bicurious. Save me."

"What's wrong with bicurious?" Taron says. "Not all of us are all—y'know, on top of our shit like you are."

Richard doesn't even acknowledge the compliment and that worries Taron more than the wince. He's always been able to read Richard easily—he was as familiar with Richard after five minutes as he is with most people after five months—and it feels like there's something Richard's not comfortable talking about. All he says is, "Sorry, I've pulled a few too many bicurious boys who were happy for me to suck their dicks but thought doing anything to help me out was too gay."

"That's not because they're bicurious, that's because they're arseholes," Taron says. Richard huffs out something like a chuckle, so Taron continues. "Look, if I ever do sleep with a man, I'll return the favour. Just not sure I ever will."

"All right. Sorry." Richard runs a hand through the fetching grey streak in his hair, a nervous habit he hardly ever displays. That's the other thing about Richard, he's comfortable with Taron but also seems much too cool for him most of the time. "Didn't mean to bring it up."

"No worries, mate," Taron says. "Need another pint?" He nods to Richard's empty glass.

"Oh, yeah. Cheers."

Taron gets the next round. He gives Blond Guy a flirty smile and gets one in return, but doesn't stay to chat. "I think he'd be up for it, by the way," Taron says as he slides back into his chair. "Gave me a good once-over when I smiled at him. If you're into it."

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"Trying not to cockblock you."

"Believe me," Richard says, "if I wanted his number, you'd not be stopping me."

Taron drinks to that.

"So, John and Elton's scene, that'll be the first time you've had a man between your thighs?" Richard says. He smirks when Taron nearly chokes on his beer.

"Maybe I'll be between yours. Dunno what Dexter wants."

Richard shrugs, not looking particularly bothered either way. "Just wanted to check. I'd been assuming I'd be having fake sex with somebody who'd had the real kind, and—"

"I have had _real sex_, thank you!" Taron practically yells, as quietly as he can given that they're in public.

Richard grins suddenly, almost like it's a surprise to him, and hides his mouth with one hand. Taron can still sees his eyes crinkling above his fingers. "Oh, you know what I meant!"

Taron licks his lips. "I'm good at it, too."

Dropping his hand, Richard takes another sip from his pint, keeping hold of Taron's gaze as he drinks. "So are you—" He breaks off. "You know you're flirting with me, right?" Richard raises his eyebrows and Taron—

Blushes.

Right. "I mean," Taron blusters, gesturing between them. "It's just how we are. Right?"

"Because we are two men who are flirting with each other," Richard says.

"That's what I'm saying."

"So you can see why I was surprised about the whole bicurious thing."

"It's not a thing," Taron says. Reflex at this point. 

Richard leans forward. "So if I said, any time you want to try it on before we start shooting, I'd be _more_ than happy to oblige you..."

Taron holds his eyes as long as he can, but it isn't, in the end, very long. "I'll think about it," he says, shifting his attention to a dartboard he can see over Richard's shoulder.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can still see Richard nod and smile to himself in a satisfied sort of way.

* * *

Taron switches to a soft drink for the next round, and Richard in the round after that. By mutual agreement, that's the last one. 

Taron heads for the gents, then calls an Uber back to their hotel while Richard takes a turn himself. Richard looks good when he comes back out—looked good when he went in, too, but Taron thinks he neatened up his hair and washed his face—and Taron's starting to get an answer as to how -curious his bi- is, when it comes to Richard.

It's a testament to how easy their friendship is, how quickly they've always got on the same wavelength, that the conversation and the silence isn't awkward in the cab, or even in the lobby of the hotel. Taron wonders if it's his imagination that the tension increases as they reach the elevators. "Want to come up to mine for a bit?" Taron says, not bothering to make it sound casual.

"Might be easier to go to mine," Richard says. They're both facing the elevator, not looking at each other.

"Control freak." Taron smirks at him sideways, so Richard knows he doesn't mean it.

"I've got supplies."

That's worthy of a full-on quarter-turn to get a better look at him. "Oh, were we planning something?" Taron says teasingly.

"We thought we were meeting up to discuss future romantic scenes with a man similarly interested in men." Richard doesn't turn, but Taron knows he's watching anyway. "Better safe than sorry."

Obviously Taron now knows Richard had thought Taron wasn't straight, given the earlier conversation, but there's something very hot in Richard planning ahead just in case. The elevator door opens, and Taron holds out an arm, offering to let Richard go first. Richard rolls his eyes before stepping forward. Well, if he wanted someone who would be serious about things, he shouldn't have offered to shag Taron, is all Taron can say. "Mine, then?" Richard asks.

"Yours. Yes."

They stay far apart on the way up, since there's a security camera blinking in the corner of the elevator. It's torturous. In under an hour Taron has gone from freaking out about the flirting to wanting to touch Richard just to see what sounds he makes. He has to wait for not only the elevator ride, but an interminable walk down the hallway to Richard's room which is, of course, about as far from the elevators as possible—Taron has to content himself with grumbling the whole way, watching the little smile on Richard's face, the softness of his eyes. 

He waits for it to be awkward but it never is. The latch clicks shut and Richard's in his arms. They're of a height so it's easy, Richard's mouth right there, artful stubble adding an intriguing texture to what is instantly a great kiss. 

Taron feels like he's trying to climb inside Richard: pressed close from chest to knees, Richard's warm solidity feeling just amazing as his tongue slides alongside Taron's. Taron has a grip on his waist and round his back and Richard's fingers have wormed themselves under the edge of his trousers in the back. Taron doesn't hate it.

Richard pulls away with one last sucking kiss to Taron's upper lip. He pulls his hands out of Taron's trousers, only to hook his index fingers through the belt loops over the points of Taron's hips, pulling Taron forward with him as he walks backwards to the bed. Richard's biting his own lip and smiling, setting up those charming little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and sure—Taron doesn't mind looking, he'd have told anyone that all along. It's different, though, with heat between them, nobody here but themselves. Richard sits down on the bed and pulls Taron on top of him as he lays back. With his weight on Richard, pressed closer even than before, Taron can feel that Richard's starting to get hard and it makes him feel—something. Powerful. That he's turning on somebody as hot as Richard, as cool and collected as Richard always seems.

Richard skins the T-shirt up Taron's back and Taron sits up, weight across Richard's hips, to pull it off. Richard unbuttons his own and Taron could help, but doesn't: it's his own personal strip show, he'd rather enjoy it. Richard pushes up onto his elbows and holds the position to get rid of the shirt entirely; his abs like that are very distracting. Taron slams him flat as soon as the shirt's gone, starving for him, the textured scratch of stubble from before now a half-body sensation experience with the chest and belly hair.

As they get more naked Taron's starting to feel his inexperience. Around now he'd be offering to go down on a girl, get her wet, but he's not sure he's ready to dive right into blowjobs, and anyway, Richard had been suggesting a fuck. Right? Or had he meant oral? And if it is a fuck, who's going to—

"Everything all right?" Richard asks.

Taron realises he's breathing hard, not because he's nervous, but because it's so fucking hot.

"More than," Taron says. 

Richard puts one hand behind his neck, leaving all his lovely arm muscles on display. On impulse, Taron leans down and licks over the swell of Richard's biceps. "Muscle worship, nice," Richard says teasingly.

Deciding he's not going to be embarrassed, Taron asks, "So, how do you usually decide who's doing what, when it's two guys?"

Richard's eyes look bluer in the light of the bedside lamp. "You talk about it," he says.

Taron blinks and Richard laughs, just a little, not meanly. 

"I mean, it's not some grand conversation," Richard continues. "You can make it as sexy as you want, but I've also had guys just grunt 'I'm a top' at me while we're dancing in a club."

Taron dares to rub his thumb over Richard's nipple. "Nice to know the bar's so low, that's much easier for me." The flesh is perking up under his touch and it's different, but like everything else, he likes it. "I've got standards, though. Make it sexy, tiger."

It was meant to be a joke, but Richard licks his lips like he liked it, a dart of tongue that Taron might not have noticed if he wasn't watching Richard so intently. "I was really hoping I could fuck you," he said. "So you know what it feels like, to be stuffed full of cock."

Surely the final consonant _k_ doesn't ring through the room, but it rings through Taron's mind anyway. "Yeah. Yes," he says, before he can think about it. He rolls off Richard and starts tugging at his flies whilst he kicks off his shoes. Next to him, Richard's shucking his own clothing in tandem, and Taron misses the moment where Richard reveals his cock, but he gets an eyeful as he's shoving his tangled jeans and pants and socks off his foot. Taron's never really had the thought that someone's dick is pretty before, but it's a nice color and shape, thickened enough to be enticing without being aggressively hard yet—Taron hadn't been sure how he'd feel, but mostly he feels comfortable the way he's always comfortable with Richard, with an edge of anticipation. He's not turned off or anything, but he's not into Richard's dick particularly more than he's into Richard's everything else.

"Aw, shite," Richard says.

Taron sits up. "What?"

Richard sighs. "Just a moment." He rolls gracefully off the bed and disappears into the bathroom. 

They'd both cleaned up at the pub, Taron had thought, so he wonders what Richard could possibly be doing. There's a momentary rustle, and then Richard reappears with a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. "Useful," Taron says.

Richard tosses the supplies on the bed and then climbs on himself, knee-walking up until he's straddling Taron's thighs. That's a lot of dick very close together, Taron thinks, as Richard stretches himself out on top of Taron and then it's a lot of dick—oh, _rubbing_ together. Taron moans into Richard's mouth and Richard thrusts forward against Taron's groin. Jesus, okay. Why hasn't Taron ever done this before?

They kiss long enough that Taron's lips are buzzing, and then Richard slowly mouths his way down Taron's torso. That's one for the wank books for sure, the sight of Richard's mouth getting closer to his dick so slowly. He sucks down part of Taron's dickwhen he gets there, enough that Taron curses and tightens his hands in the duvet rather than letting his hips thrust into the tight, wet pressure. It doesn't last long, though, before Richard's pulling off, draping one of Taron's legs over his shoulder, and reaching for the lube.

Taron's had a finger up his bum before—it never did much for him but he's not frightened of it or anything. Richard's finger's a little thicker than the last bird who tried it, but smaller than a very memorable doctor who'd given Taron a prostate check a few years back. Taron can't quite reach Richard's hair to run a hand through it, though he wants to, so he just watches Richard watching himself slide a slick finger slowly into and out of Taron's arsehole. 

"How am I doing?" Richard says.

"It's fine." Not as interesting as, well, almost anything else they'd been doing, though Taron does like the look of his thick thigh over Richard's shoulder. 

"Hmm." Richard frowns and starts doing—something different. It's actually much harder to tell what's going on down there than Taron thought it would be, given that it's happening inside his very own arse. "Aha!" Richard looks up at Taron triumphantly, and blinks when he sees Taron hasn't reacted to whatever it is he thought he'd done. "That—did you feel anything?"

"Your finger up my arse," Taron says. "Bit hard to miss."

"Well, that's a shame."

"What?"

"Oh—that's your prostate," Richard says. He moves his finger again; it's not noticeably different from the previous thrust. "Lots of men find it very pleasurable to have it touched."

"Oh, I've heard of that!" Taron says, and immediately feels like he's in uni again. Heard of it, Christ. He's got lots of sexual experience, no need to talk about things he's _heard of_, what was he _thinking_.

"That's all right," Richard says. "You'll still like it, I promise."

"Love a man with confidence," Taron says in his best flirtatious voice.

Richard starts working in a second finger, which shuts Taron up pretty quick. This is slightly newer territory—already the biggest thing Taron's had up there, he thinks. The stretch is more noticeable. There's something satisfying about Richard's fingers probing him so deep, though, stimulating places that normally don't get it. And it's also nice being the focus of so much of Richard's attention. Taron's a simple man, he likes simple things, like when hot people agree to have sex with him.

"Do you like getting fingered?" Taron asks.

"Yes," Richard says decisively. He's tucked his thumb up under Taron's balls and is rubbing there steadily as he fucks his fingers in and out.

"What do you like about it?"

"What do _you_ like about it?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"Hm." Richard pulls his fingers out partway and rubs his slick thumb around the rim of Taron's arse. It's getting more sensitive, Taron thinks. Concentrating all his attention there when he's not used to it. Taron's getting harder, too. He hadn't been all the way there when they started, and he'd thought the fingering wouldn't do much for him, but his dick's thick and restless in the valley of his hip. "I suppose I'll have to make it more interesting for you, then," Richard says.

Taron sees his head going down, of course, his shoulder getting lower under Taron's leg, but he must have thought Richard just wanted a better view or something because it's a genuine shock when he feels a flicker of tongue next to the fingers spreading open his arse. 

"Oh, fuckin'—yeah, right there," Taron says. He had _no idea_ it would feel like that. So warm and so wet and, like, mobile. He folds his leg up to give Richard a better angle and is rewarded with the brush of bristly whiskers as Richard just shoves his face in there—Jesus. It's far more intense this way, the interesting constant stimulation of the beard and Richard's tongue, the seductive steady rhythm of thrusting. "Bloody hell, is this what girls feel when they get eaten out?"

Richard laughs between his thighs.

"Focus!" Taron says, poking Richard in the shoulder with his toes, and Richard laughs again. His tongue only briefly pauses what it's doing, and Taron's fully rocking into it now, not sure exactly what he needs but certain he wants more of what's happening. Richard gives it to him.

He feels like he's dripping wet with lube and spit by the time Richard comes back up, looking wilder, wiping his lower face off with his free hand. Richard looks so satisfied when he sees Taron's cock, now fully into the proceedings, and it hits Taron like a thump to the chest: right, Richard is _getting off_ on this. Richard is into men, Richard wanted Taron enough that he brought stuff with him just in case, Richard is fingering him because Richard wants to put his dick in him and get off.

Taron lets his leg rest back on Richard's shoulder. "Think they'd let us do that in the film?"

Richard's face falls, just a little. "Probably a little too risqué."

"Just for us, then," Taron says, taking a swing at what's bothering Richard, and gets eye crinkles back for his trouble. Yeah. Okay, so no more jokes about this being for the film, or Richard's gonna feel like Taron's not into it. And he is _fully_ into it by now. It's still just fingers but now it's definitely, like, sex things happening. Not potentially-medical things happening. 

"You should touch yourself. Uh, if you want to," Richard says, nodding at Taron's dick as though he wouldn't know what he meant.

"Don't want to come yet."

Richard's eyebrows go up to his hairline, but he doesn't stop what he's doing so Taron guesses he didn't surprise him _that_ much.

Taron feels like his pulse is starting to match the rhythm of Richard's fingers, but triple time at least. It would be strange if it wasn't so achingly good. He drums his heel against Richard's back and says, "Aren't you gonna give me another one, stud?"

"You're still bloody tight."

"Mmm, feels like I could do another," Taron says.

"Feels like you're a wee bairn, still in need of my teaching."

"Feels like that's a weird thing to say with two of your fingers in my arse." Richard wiggles them, pressed deep, and Taron jerks. "Fuck!"

"Think relaxing thoughts," Richard says, the bastard, and goes back to fucking Taron's brains out with _only_ two of his fingers.

Suddenly Taron doesn't know what to do with his hands. It was all right when he wasn't that into it, and all right when he was distracted by Richard's mouth, but he doesn't want to start wanking himself and Richard's too far away to touch. Also, now he's supposed to be _relaxing_ and it's like trying to not think about pink elephants, all he's doing is getting more tense. Maybe— He pulls his leg up and grabs behind his knee with both hands, forcing his thigh up by his chest, farther even than when Richard was eating him out. Oh, that did something, made something pull around Richard's fingers, and maybe he was right, maybe Taron's still too tight.

Richard makes a noise, eyes glued to Taron's hole.

Taron wonders what it looks like. He's done his share of arseplay from the other side, but he wasn't into it the way Richard seems to be: couple of fingers while he ate the girl out, and it felt nice but it wasn't something he really needed to watch. Richard doesn't seem to feel the same way about it. He's been going at it for a bloody century, for one thing. 

Taron starts taking deep breaths. Relax, relax, relax, he thinks, matching it to the pulse of Richard's fingers. Eventually the tight grip on his knee starts to feel weird, and things are sounding...squelchier, so maybe he's loosening up. He lets his leg rest on Richard's shoulder again. When he looks down, he sees that his dick is jumping whenever Richard pushes deep, and he hopes they're about to get on with it because now that he's feeling relaxed he's also fucking desperate.

"Why d'you wanna fuck me, anyway?" Taron says.

Richard flicks him a glance. "Fishing for compliments?"

"I mean, fuck me, specifically. Like, instead of blowjobs or something."

"Oh." Richard bites his lip, which, holy shit, why is his face so far away from Taron's face. "Well, it's easier than blowjobs for a first time because you won't really have to do anything."

"Oi," Taron says. "I'm not gonna lie here and just take it, you know."

Richard runs a hot look from Taron's groin up to his face and raises an eyebrow. Okay, so Taron's lying here and taking it _right now_. It's just fingering, he'll be more active later. Richard breathes out through his nose and then he says, almost reluctantly, "And you're kind of mouthy, and I like the idea of hearing what you'll say when my cock's inside you. If I'm honest."

If this is what communicating your desires gets you, Taron is _on board_.

"Or even just my fingers," Richard says, teasingly, and there's suddenly a _lot_ more happening downstairs. _Finally._ It's probably just one more finger, but the stretch feels enormous, and Taron grunts and edges his thighs a little wider. It doesn't help. He takes a fistful of the bedclothes to squeeze out some of his newly-returned tension and still-present need. He barely even hears Richard muttering, "Fuck, look at you," but Taron's attention gets drawn back to him when he sucks a chunk of Taron's inner thigh into his mouth and bites.

It's almost too much sensation, the hard pressure in his arse and a hot painful suction right near his cock. Taron grabs his dick and starts jerking off because this is just _way_ too much, and it's incredible how it transmutes everything he's feeling into something even better. He can tell when Richard notices because he gives up on the hickey and leans forward to lick the head of Taron's dick. Even that much still feels bloody brilliant.

Richard says, "Thought you were gonna come if you did that."

"I _am_."

Richard smiles and Taron watches the muscles in his shoulder flex as he screws Taron with his fingers. "Maybe you should stop, then. We haven't even got to the good part yet."

Taron could easily disagree with that—at this point, he's wondering if Richard just puts "Sex God" on his CV. "I thought you wanted me to know what it was like," Taron says through heaving breaths. "Would you get on with it before I come all over myself?"

"I changed my mind," Richard says.

"Fuck!" Taron all but shrieks.

"Oh, I'm still going to fuck you," he says. "But I don't just want you to know what it's like. I want you to understand what it feels like to _want it_." He jabs his fingers in on the last phrase, thick and long, and Taron grinds back into the pressure. He needs more. He knows what more will be and—fuck—Richard must be some kind of wizard because Taron needs it so much he's tempted to beg.

"You're fuckin' there, mate!" is what Taron says instead.

Richard _bites his fucking thigh_ again, thankfully in a different place, and says, "Ask me nicely."

"If I'd known you were such a twat..."

"I can take my fingers out," Richard says.

"If you don't replace them with your cock I swear to God, Dickie—"

Instead of instantly obeying Taron's desires, Richard howls with laughter. Taron kicks him ineffectually in the back with his heel—his angle's just not good enough with the meat of Richard's shoulder shoved into back of his knee—and Richard starts snorting instead. At least there's _something_ he can do that's unattractive, Jesus Christ. 

But the next thing Richard does is slide his fingers out—Taron can feel every millimetre dragging across the sensitive rim of his arse—and stroke a condom onto his dick with a hand that Taron is gratified to notice is shaking. He lets Taron's leg go and crawls up the bed, and Taron drops his own cock so he can rest his hands on Richard's back instead. "Ready?" Richard says, and it's so gentle Taron feels the laughter falling out of him, leaving him desperate and affectionate. 

Taron nods. 

"It'll be easier if you wrap your legs around my waist."

When he does, Taron sees why—it tilts his hips up so he's folding in half a little. He tries to watch Richard's face, but he only manages a moment of seeing the wide-open blue eyes, the shocked pleasure, before his own eyes are closing. It's a lot, but it doesn't hurt; Richard did a good job preparing him. And it's all suddenly more intimate than it had been. Richard's up close now, his breath hitting Taron's face in harsh pants as he slowly works his dick into Taron's arse. Taron can feel the stretch in his thighs, too, held wider than usual so Richard's body can fit between them. He opens his eyes again and reaches to fist a hand in Richard's hair. Richard finally looks affected, ruddy and out of breath, his hair mussed even before Taron gets a grip on it. 

"Okay?" Richard says.

It would be easy to get sentimental, so Taron says, "Thought I told you to get the fuck on with it."

Richard gasps out a laugh and thrusts for real and then they're off. Richard is fucking him in a sweat-slick clench, his hips crowding against Taron's arse as he gives it to him firm and steady. When Taron said earlier he couldn't feel anything from his prostate—now he thinks that wasn't quite right. There's not an individual moment of sensation, but it's like—getting an itch scratched slowly. He wants to hinge his hips wider and grind into the pressure of Richard's cock inside him. So he does. It's really good for him. Richard bends closer and Taron folds himself harder so they can kiss, open mouths and panting breaths.

The thing is that everything is happening in just _so much_ of Taron's body. He's used to being wrapped up, he thinks, and now he's doing the wrapping, and it's different. It's usually his dick and maybe, like, some scratches on his back if he's doing really well, the feel of breasts against his chest. This is all of that pressed together stuff, his dick caught between his belly and Richard's, and Richard's dick in his arse, of course, but also Richard's body against the inside of his legs from groin to ankle, Richard's arms pressed up on the slightly ticklish bits of Taron's side as he braces himself for what Taron recognizes is a bloody good fuck. He reaches down to grab himself and moans loudly, surprising himself, at how good it feels. 

"Oh, fuck yeah, touch yourself," Richard says. He's sweaty, hair a bird's nest, a blotchy red colour over most of his skin that would look unattractive on anyone else. His breathing's starting to go uneven, even though his hips are still steady. It looks like he's fighting to hold back so he doesn't come before Taron does. He's barely been inside him for any time at all—did he enjoy fingering Taron that much? 

"Taron, fuck, I'm," Richard says, and Taron comes before he can finish the sentence.

The orgasm feels different, too, because he's never realized quite how much his arse squeezes as he comes, but it definitely does that, only now Richard's inside him and he _can't_, there's no room. His toes are curling so hard he thinks his feet are going to cramp and it feels like he comes forever and everywhere. He recognises that he's probably being very loud, but fuck if he's going to pay attention to it right now.

They don't manage to come together, but it's actually better. Richard's so close behind Taron that Taron doesn't have time to get sensitive; he's blissed out and half numb instead. And he can watch Richard's face, the way his eyes slam shut and his mouth slackens on a groan, the colour rising even higher in his cheeks. He's fuckin' attractive, Taron thinks again, as Richard blinks his eyes back open and smiles down at him.

"I'm going to pull out," he says, "it'll feel weird," apologetic.

It already feels weird, loose and wet as he softens, but Richard isn't wrong, it feels even weirder when he slides out. He does something with the condom and then flops forward, not quite on Taron but not really off him, either, so his beard scratches at Taron's shoulder. Taron reaches up and rubs an open palm over his shoulder, the back of his head. 

Richard groans. "You wanted to make me work for it, huh," he says, voice still a little rough.

"Gotta keep you in shape, actor boy," Taron murmurs.

After a few more minutes of comfortable silence, Taron says, "So is there a trick to cleaning this up, or—"

* * *

In the silence before they fall asleep, Richard says, "What did you think?"

Taron discards a bunch of ludicrously complimentary adjectives. "Well, I'm no longer curious."

Richard turns over to look at him. "Um—"

"Still bi, though."

Richard relaxes and smiles. "Great." He tucks himself deeper into his pillow. "And, you know, if we've a break on set and you're bored, you're welcome to try giving me a blow job."

"Oh my God, you _just_ got off," Taron laughs.

Richard grins, with teeth.

He's a terrible bed sharer, Taron learns, snores and hogs the blankets and curls up against Taron's side like a furnace but only when Taron's already hot. Taron never brings himself to care.


End file.
